A simple life

I stumbled into Frances’ trailer with a faint smell of horse – that didn’t wash off – and completely exhausted. Her wide chocolate eyes took in my appearance and she pointed to the sofa where I crashed. A glass of water appeared in my hands, and I almost started. Had I been falling asleep already ? Damn, I was more spent than I realised. Frances was busying herself with Gods knew what on the small table, and I eventually regained my brain functions.

— “The crew is dining out, they wanted to know if you wanted to join us”

She gave me a faint smile. Probably still mulling over the afternoon. I should have offered advice and such, but I was too tired to breach the subject now so I stood.

— “No, I… I’m drained, emotionally. Anger takes a lot from me, that’s why I don’t give it grounds”

Giving the potential of said fury, I could understand the feeling.

— “Ah, yes. It was rather intense”

Would she speak about how it felt to be the recipient of my cold stares ? The children always said I was impressive when getting angry. And I, in return, had been quite rattled to become her target. Frances and I sometimes disagreed… but we never fought. Perhaps I had better let it go… for now.

— “Thank you for the offer. I’ll fix myself a salad. I don’t feel like seeing people much this evening”

— “I get it. I feel like staying in myself, honestly”

— “But… ?”

A sheepish smile found its way to my lips; I would never tell her I had squat to eat in my fridge and only beers remained. I had spent a celibate week end in all its glory. Frances lifted an eyebrow playfully.

— “You look tired, want to tag along my salad ride ?”

I almost wept with relief – no exaggeration – then scoffed at the image.

— “I spent the afternoon on the saddle, my ass hurts. So salad yes, but I’ll pass on the ride”

— “I won’t offer you a massage… especially since you’ve been mean to me”

Ah, so there it was. Why did I feel the compelling need to defend myself ? Ah yes, I’d been married and the recipient of wrath before.

— “Johan was mean to Margaux”, I deadpanned. “I was a good actor”

Frances leant over the counter, levelling me with an unreadable look.

— “I know, I’m teasing you. But if you fancy the salad, I can cook. Margaux would anyway; she wouldn’t let her husband starve, even if he'd been an asshole”

Her jab sent my mind to places it shouldn’t go, so I cut the musings short.

— “Can I help ?”

— “Yes. Tomatoes need to be chopped. Don’t move, I’ll bring them to you”

She dragged the little table in front of me and brought a plate, a knife and huge juicy tomatoes such as only southern countries could grow.

— “So, salad ? Is that your comfort food ?”

— “As a matter of fact, yes. Don’t laugh !”

— “I’m not”, I chortled.

Frances send me a mock disapproving look, but her eyes twinkled.

— “I am addicted to raw vegetable, just like my father. I can’t live without salad, it’s my every evening meal in Norway”

— “So no brownies ?”

Frances paused, picking a shalott in a basket nonchalantly. Sometimes, she reminded me of a cat, especially with that kind of mannerism. Needless to say I found it adorable.

— “I love brownies.”

— “Ah”

— “Right after the salad…”, she added.

I chuckled, standing on stiff legs to bring the chopped tomatoes back to her.

— “Stay away, the shalott is in a very bad mood”, she warned.

A tear rolled down her face, and I realised it was the first time I saw her crying… I couldn’t resist, and my hand gently wiped the stray droplet from her cheek. Startled by my gesture, Frances lifted her moist eyes to me. There was no reproach in her gaze, merely an interrogation. I only shrugged.

— “Can’t leave my lady in distress, can I?”

The double meaning was caught easily, and I nearly sighed in relief. Phew, that was close. I needed to be careful; even if our closeness increased by the day, there was intimacy in this gesture that went far beyond a friendly hug. I couldn't let her guess my feelings had changed.

Frances turned away, washing the salad, then gathering it in a linen cloth. My eyebrows rose, and she only answered my silent interrogation with a lifted eyebrow that meant 'wait and see'. Stepping outside, she started swinging the cloth to wring the water out of the salad.

— “You are quite inventive”, I said, taking advantage of being outside to light up a cigarette.

— “Well, I didn’t have what I needed in school so I reproduced the metal casing my grandmother had with a cloth… and I can’t live without salad.”

I blew the smoke away.

— “Yes, I’ve heard of your addiction”

She glared at me without much conviction, then silently stared at the puff that rose in the air before getting into the trailer again. The message came across. Speaking of addictions… I wasn’t proud of it, but I knew that Stéphane was also a smoker. And since the divorce, I just grilled twice as many as before. I crushed the tip with a sigh, and got inside again. Frances was spreading a liquid with strange colors in the bowl, mixing it with the tomatoes and precooked eggs.

— “What’s this ?”

— “Olive oil, argan oil, lemon and soy sauce."

— "Your homemade sauce ?"

She nodded, putting the cork on the leaking bottle. The tip of her rosy tongue darted off to prevent a drop from falling down before she stowed it in the cupboard.

— "I abhor vinegar, and I didn’t have enough space to bring all my bottles. Neither in the suitcase, neither in the trailer. So I mixed it all up in a single one”

I nodded, thinking about the bad mayonnaise that sat in my fridge. Clearly, salad was a serious subject.

Ten minutes later, I understood why. The dish was succulent; the ripe tomatoes responded to the acidity of lemon, the Provence herbs bringing a little peps where the soy sauce created depth. The egg’s yoke wasn’t entirely cooked, leaking onto the leaves and coating it with a shiny layer of fat. Argan oil was something I had never tasted, and it gave the little something that made it just perfect for my tongue. I practically inhaled the first plate, and Frances gave me the bowl when she saw how fast I had eaten the first round. I didn’t complain, and cleared the remains while she heated some water.

Ten minutes later, we were both satisfied, sipping on herbal tea while dealing with a chocolate bar. It definitely beat going out this evening, and I couldn’t help the pang of sadness that hit me when I realized that she would share many such evenings with her intended while I went back into the show business. To hype soirées and restaurants when it could be so different. Somehow, I didn’t want those moments to be a parenthesis anymore. I felt at peace by her side; I wanted more of it. Every day. But it wasn’t meant to be.

I didn’t know if Frances picked up on my somber mood when she dropped her gaze into her steaming cup.

— “I’m sorry”, she said.

My eyebrows rose in surprise. What, exactly, was she apologizing for ? Was it about the scene we had trouble shooting today ?

— “Whatever for ?”

The intensity of her gaze when she lifted her eyes to mine took my breath away. Suddenly, I was lost in the golden hues created by the artificial light in her warm chocolate orbs. I saw her hesitation, then the deep breath she took. Clearly, this was important, but she was reluctant to breach the subject.

— “I’m sorry for what you have been through”, she eventually said.

Oh. The divorce. After throwing that bombshell in her lap, I had retreated and quite refused to talk about it. I realized my mistake with a sigh. Frances was my friend, she saw the suffering it caused every day.

— “You have nothing to be sorry for. Helen and I… we were spent, I guess”

— “Helen ?”

Funny that she would chose to mind the name.

— “Yes. Why ?”

— “My mother wanted to call me Hélène, but they settled for Frances instead.”

A droplet of hot liquid caught in my throat, and I started coughing. My companion slapped my back twice before I could start breathing again, then she closed the subject.

— “I get it if you don’t want to talk about it. But know that I’ll be there if you ever want to”

Keeping my eyes fixed upon my cup, I decided that maybe I could start unburdening myself a little. So I told her about the way I met Helen, at a première, and how we got married, and had our two wonderful children. How we now got along tentatively, after all the yelling, especially for the sake of said children. How she filed for divorce without me even knowing it…

— “The children are the only thing I will never regret.”

— “I wish I could meet them someday, they seem so great”

Fishing out my mobile, I started showing her picture of my eldest son, now seventeen. And my daughter who was fifteen. I told her about the things they did that made me crazy, and the toddlers they had been. Fond memories, that warmed my heart and made me miss them.

— “I’ve seen how you interact with Elise”, she said. “You are so natural”

— “Habit, I guess. Once a father, always a father”

Frances bit her lip; she seemed to have qualms and insecurities about it all. Still, her next question caught me off guard.

— “How old are you, Tristan ?”

I nearly winced; had she not looked on the internet ? Yes, I was an old man compared to her. A man with more experience, and grown children.

— “I’m turning forty in November”

— “Wow, I never would have guessed. You look… I don’t know. So full of energy”

I smiled then, and she pointed the laugh lines that sold my age at the corner of my eyes. Bracing myself, I resolved myself to ask the dreaded question.

— “I never asked you how old you were”

— “Twenty-six. Three weeks from now”

The familiar tightening in my chest reminded me that Frances wasn’t mine in the first place. And to hide the disturbing fact that, even if she wanted it, she was still fourteen years younger than I was, I went on with my interrogation.

— “Oh ? When is that ?”

— “Eight of march. Can’t miss it, the world celebrates women that day”

I mulled over the fact that this girl, so young in age, didn’t behave as such. And was born on woman’s international day. It wasn’t such a surprise, to be honest; she was an archetype ; middle height, discreet curves over a toned body, lovely features and a waterfall of hair that called for my hands. I was dying to dig my fingers in her mane.

Remembering myself, I took another direction.

— “Want kids ?”

Frances gave me a sad smile.

— “Well, yeah, but not now. You see how I have trouble interacting with Elise ?”

— “Honestly, I think there is… she doesn’t…”

Damn, my mouth had ran ahead of my head, and I didn’t know how to say something so … touchy. As usual I had forgotten how insightful Frances could be. And frank as well, a very Scandinavian trait.

— “She doesn’t like me”, Frances deadpanned.

— “No !”, I blurted.

My companion gave me a stern look, calling me on my bullshit.

— “All right. Yeah, maybe. I don’t understand why. She is a very strong-willed child, and she doesn’t see eye to eye with you”

I had my suspicions, actually, but wasn’t about to share them. Elise might not appreciate the attention I was giving Frances compared to her. Anyway… It didn’t matter. Scenes between mother and child were scarce compared to mine.

— “It’s not only her. I never know how to interact with children. I feel very awkward all the time”

I understood this fear; I had shared the same before my children were born.

— “It will clear out when you get yours. Things come naturally after that”

Frances offered me a tired sigh, dropping her head over her arm to face me. I mimicked her position, finding that my eyelids grew heavier by the minute.

— “Honestly… I don’t know. I’m not getting any younger and I don’t see any engagement coming.”

— “Marriage is important to you ?”, I asked, genuinely interested.

— “Nah, not that kind of engagement. Of course, I would love to get married; who can say no to a ceremony and a princess gown ?”

My answer was deadly serious.

— “I would”

Frances snickered, swatting my arm playfully.

— “You’re so… !!!"

My grin only widened, wondering what qualificative she would pick for my stupid humour. But her face sobered.

— "Anyway. The real deal is children. Once you have a child with someone, you are linked forever. And the energy to raise them asks for both parents to be present. You probably know this better than anyone”

Yes. Even if my children had been easy enough, I had spent time and energy to care for them. And I was tied to Helen for the reminder of my days.

— “Yeah. The first years can be tough”

Seeing that I got her point, Frances went on with her demonstration.

— “So, you know. If I am not a priority now, how can children get in the picture ? We’re not in the fifties anymore, they need a father. And I will not be able to handle it on my own. Do you know what he said, when we spoke of children ?”

That was a rhetorical question, so I just shook my head.

— "He said that if a business deal had to happen while I gave birth, business would have to come first. So I have trouble seeing a good future there."

My mouth opened, then closed in shock. I had no polite words to possibly respond to such a thing. What the fuck !!! When you had someone like Frances in your life, how could you treat her that way ? Was he trying to drive her away ? The question left unsaid was… would Stéphane be able to drop the company, or would her life be constantly driven by emergencies and an absent husband ? An absent father ? I’d met so many women who wanted a child so badly that they overlooked this consideration, popping a kid whenever they found a ‘suitable’ candidate. I should have trusted Frances to go deeper than that.

— “Has anyone told you how wise you are ?”

She almost laughed then.

— “Nope.”

But I wasn’t kidding, and I reached for her hand to plunge my gaze into hers.

— “Then I tell you now. I find you wise beyond your years”

Frances blushed, then dropped her gaze. She bit her lip then, and her little thumb caressed my knuckles once, twice before letting go. Silence stretched for a moment, and I wondered if I had not been too forward.

— “Thank you, Tristan. Coming from you, it means a lot”

I held her gaze until she stood to do the washing up. I was about to join her when she stopped me:

— “Don’t. You need to rest after the day you had. I’ll do the dishes”

Her willingness to take care of me sent me into a spiral of inner musings. My job had killed my marriage, the absence too heavy to keep a tight bond. As I laid down on the sofa to relieve my achy muscles, I couldn’t help but imagine a life with Frances. I would treat her better than Stéphane did, but… would I manage to make her a priority in my life ? Yes. Definitely yes. Even with Helen, I had never felt that way towards a woman. Well, not exactly. I had been heads over heels with Helen, for many years. But she had never made me feel that way. So genuine. So willing to soothe her aches, a proud servant to a princess. Sir Tristan, the knight.

When the noises receded and the light was switched off, I was far gone into my daydream. I never felt the blanket that was spread over me.